


Putting Out Fires With Gasoline

by ugellinbro



Series: RAM Tropes [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Age Difference, Dirty Talk, Don't post on another site, Frottage, Incest, Kinks, M/M, Masturbation, Morty is explicitly 19 years old, Not Beta Read, Pet Names, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, should I warn for that, to be clear, which may or may not matter to some people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ugellinbro/pseuds/ugellinbro
Summary: God damn it,he thought blearily, thoughts moving like soup in his mind through the endorphins and Rick’s voice in his memory. There was a brief moment that edged around shame maybe, but a more important thought took precedence.That smug old bastard can never know.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Series: RAM Tropes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682344
Comments: 35
Kudos: 204





	1. Ain't Better Than--

The video was low quality, cam footage - from a phone, probably, judging from the slight shakiness - and obviously staged. It started with no prelude and no story, just two men in focus in what looked like some sort of home office. One of them was noticeably shorter than the other and looked like he was in his twenties, wearing gray boxer briefs and glasses with thick black frames. The other was older and fit, but not any specific age Morty could pin down. Anywhere from 30-50, from the gray edging up into the rest of his dark hair at the temples. 

The two men kissed and Morty realized he should’ve taken his jeans off before as his dick started chubbing up against his fly uncomfortably. He quickly unbuttoned and unzipped, eyes fixed on the screen as the older man used a hand in the younger man’s hair and half-guided/half-forced his head down to his chest, holding him in place to suck at his nipple. 

He only had one ear bud in to make sure he could hear if anyone came home early. Even at 19, he wasn’t immune to being teased by his family. Even so, the volume was loud enough to hear the heavy breathing from the video. 

_ “Fuck, baby,” the older guy muttered. “Yeah, like that...mm. That’s good.” _

It wasn’t especially inspired, but something in the guy’s voice tightened his gut even more and he slid his hand under the elastic waist of his boxers, shifting and wriggling until he could grind up into his palm in the tight space that was allowed by his jeans.

God, he needed this. What was the title? Morty tapped the space bar, pausing the playback and bringing up the name.  _ Making the Grade 3/4.  _

He’d have to check out the other parts. For now, though…

Morty resumed the video and leaned back, tugging his dick up so he could slide his fingers over the head as the younger guy went lower and lower until he was licking the other guy’s dick through his brown slacks. 

~

It had become a habit, then routine: one night a week (no real predicting when, to avoid dangerous routines and to sate his own paranoia, Rick tried to keep it unpredictable) Rick would spend time interacting with Beth and working on whatever needed fixing around the house. He bitched about it, but usually Jerry had taken a stab at fixing things first, so it was actually a stellar opportunity to torment his son in law. 

When he started on his first household repair, Morty would have a minimum of three hours, but usually four and occasionally up to five, and he did his damndest to spend at least the first hour getting off. It was safest to wrap up with coursework for the last hour or more to avoid Rick bursting in during a bad moment, but Morty needed at least a little time to himself and this was the only way to guarantee he got it, at least until he moved out next year.

Morty usually navigated the sites he found through Rick’s secure “no questions asked” wifi by clicking through profiles and finding favorites of the people posting videos he liked or of commenters he agreed with. That had lead to the video of the “professor” and the college senior looking to improve his grades -- Morty had found the others in the series that linked into a loose story of blackmail, lust, and debauchery -- and somehow that had ended up on a public tag for generation gaps, or older/younger pairings. 

Morty didn’t usually browse public tags, but every now and then, he’d find himself running dry and risk it. He’d made the jump from the tags on the series he’d just finished, and somehow he’d found himself watching the same actor from that series eating out another guy, one that looked even older than the actor playing the professor, with a full head of messy gray hair and leaner, maybe a little fitter than the last guy had been.

The younger blond pulled back, face messy with spit and the lube that had dripped down from where he was stroking the older guy’s dick, getting it slick and impressively hard.

“Oh, fuck,” Morty muttered, shifting his leg up to get a decent angle, rubbing his anus gently, watching intently as the blond shifted and reached down to remove an impressive butt plug. 

The older man tugged the younger one up and obviously looked him up and down, taking the plug from him, and then told him what a filthy, slutty mess he was before kissing him. 

“Holy… Geez, man…” Morty whispered, his fingers stilling even as his dick  _ flexed _ . “Wow, uh…”

The rest of the video was just as good and Morty ended up jerking off twice watching the blond ride the older guy to a steady stream of filth and endearments, cumming the first time when the blond did, arching up and splattering the bed and his partner and himself, rising up on his knees, and the older guy got a leg under him and kept fucking up into him, dragging out a startled whine as the blond fell forward and barely seemed to catch himself on his hands.

He came again when they switched positions so that the blond on his back, taking that thick cock long and deep. The camera panned between absolutely lewd kisses, broken only so the grey haired man could drag his stubble-rough mouth over the blond’s jaw and neck, leaving faint red welts as high sharp yips were forced out of the blond with every forceful thrust.

When he was able to motivate himself through the afterglow to clean off his hands, Morty checked the title. 

_ Good Boys Finish First _

What? Well, whatever. He bookmarked it anyway. 

~

It was a rabbit hole from there, and Morty felt like he was falling a little. He watched everything that had the older guy on the site and from the content providers, found even more videos. That had brought him to the slowly growing realization that as he’d explored, his preference had adapted. It had been two months since he’d stumbled over that first video and he’d found himself focusing almost solely on men anywhere from twenty to forty years older than that with people -- men and women -- in their early twenties.

He hadn’t thought about twice about it because he was a fucking idiot, but...god, if only he could go back in time or ask Rick to erase a certain memory without having to tell him what it was? But that wouldn’t be possible even if the technology could handle it.  _ Rick  _ would never let him use the memory eraser without telling him what he wanted removed.

The problem was, the last video had involved a little power play, and somehow --  _ somehow  _ \-- during their most recent adventure, Rick had managed to say the exact same piece of dialog that had triggered Morty’s orgasm during his last session, and something vague in Morty’s head had crystallized and shattered almost at once, sending a cold spark of heat down his spine. 

Rick had been ordering him to look for a weird gelatin orb that had rolled under the ship console. Morty had complained. 

_ “Get down and stay there. I’ll tell you when you can get up.” _

When Morty had realized what he’d said, when that weird sensation had gripped his spine, he’d found himself with a head full of static on his knees in the ship, staring at Rick in shock.

“God damn it, Morty, it’s a fucking panacea and you -- I need it if I’m going to like -- if I want to cure liver cancer or whatever. You know the liver is my favorite organ! If you render this whole bullshit pointless, M--EURG-orty, I swear to fucking god…”

Morty should have bitched him out for ordering him around but found himself unable to keep eye contact, so he looked for Rick’s stupid gello sphere, cheeks uncomfortably hot, absolutely certain Rick was staring down at him and trying desperately not to conceptualize the realization he’d had.

The fact didn’t stop him from plugging his headphones into his laptop the minute he got home and finding that video again.

_ God damn it, _ he thought blearily, thoughts moving like soup in his mind through the endorphins and Rick’s voice in his memory. There was a brief moment that edged around shame maybe, but a more important thought took precedence.  _ That smug old bastard can never know. _


	2. You'd Rather I Address It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fuck. Summer was right: porn really is going to be what gets me killed._

“Why is it so hot?” Morty whispered, feeling sweat beading together on his skin in the closed in humidity of the closet Rick had shoved them into. The closet was clearly meant for one person at a time, and the people (alien, Yar-something, whatever) on this planet were all somehow...flatter than humans. It had been fucking with Morty since they landed, but he’d shoved it to the back of his mind with ease borne of long practice.

The heat wasn’t so easy to ignore, though, primarily because the air was already warm and a little stale in the closet Rick had found for them to hide, and that was made worse by the lack of space. 

“I could say it has to do with the Yaburik’s cold blooded nature,” Rick mumbled, voice neutral as his brain responded automatically even as he continued working on the tiny pad integrated into his portal gun. “But the truth is, Graf’knurl is just a stingy bastard who won’t turn on the central air until their equivalent of August even if it means his workers overheat... _fuck_ shit, this _piece of shit..._ ”

Rick was literally pressed into Morty while he worked, chest to chest due to the space constraints of working in what was intended to be a one person (two and a half dimensional squid thing?) space. Well, mostly chest to chest: Morty was still shorter than Rick, unfortunately, but he was at least taller than he’d been when Rick had rejoined their lives five years ago. The hard won inches Morty had gained over the years were saving him now. 

Rick was almost crushing Morty into the shelves in order to see the small screen he was using to recode the gun’s code on the fly. To do what he needed to so they could escape, Rick had thrust his arms behind Morty’s head into the shelf, shoving stacks of something to the side that seemed to jiggle in Morty’s periphery so he could have room to work on the portal gun by angling it to be visible through the slats in the shelf. 

His lab coat was hanging open around Morty, the slightly worn, almost soft nature of the fabric against Morty’s face indicating it was one of his old ones that had somehow survived his experiments. The coat hanging around Morty’s body didn’t help the heat at all, and in their initial shuffle into the closet, Morty hadn’t thought to position himself in any way that might preserve his dignity, so they’d ended up with their legs intertwined in a way that ended with Rick’s thigh wedged pretty high between Morty’s. He’d leaned back into the shelving as much as possible, but that wasn’t a lot at all and had somehow messed up Rick’s angle or something, since he’d shifted in response. 

“How can you possibly fuck up standing still? Stop moving!”

Their proximity meant Morty couldn’t escape the humid build up of their combined body heat as he tried desperately to avoid shifting down and giving away the truly unfortunate erection he’d started developing when Rick had pressed him into the shelving unit. The scent of their sweat and deodorant was rising, mixing with the smell of smoky whiskey that hung around Rick like cologne. It was, at least, overwhelming the scent of over ripe bananas permeating the closet, but that didn’t mean Morty wasn’t deeply concerned with the timing of his body’s reaction to the situation. 

_God damn it._ Morty shifted against the shelf, trying unsuccessfully to put a little more space between himself and Rick. Their groins weren’t pressed together, thankfully, but Rick’s thigh wouldn’t have to move much to get there. The feel of custom created cybernetics coated in steely muscle under skin that was far more elastic than a man’s his age should be until you considered how frequently Rick had regrown the limb between Morty’s own thighs was torture, separated as it was from Morty’s dick by a scant couple of inches and the trivial barrier of their pants. 

Morty would only have to twist his hips and drop _a little_ and he would be riding it. _Fuck. Summer was right: porn really is going to be what gets me killed._

Rick wasn’t moving _a lot_ maybe, but he was working intensely behind Morty: the portal gun didn’t have any hokey beeps or clicks for typing confirmation, but he could hear the faint shift of fabric over the shelf, and the micro movement required to do whatever he was doing to the gun meant his arms rubbed over Morty’s neck above his shirt, and his nape where his shirt had slipped. 

Footsteps from beyond the closet door sent a bolt of incredibly unfortunate adrenaline through Morty, strangling his voice even further when he hissed, “ _Rick_!”

“Shut up, it’s fine,” Rick whispered, sending a waft of more concentrated whiskey scented breath over Morty’s face. “I have the -- the door is locked, Morty. We won’t have to worry about anything if I can just _program_ the bypass for -- we just gotta get around their shitty _ultineer._ Can’t believe I forgot their old buildings still had this shit. It’s like asbestos, Morty! If they’d done what they were supposed to, we could’ve just fucking portalled out! Those cheap fucks were supposed to replace this shit _years ago_. Fucking bureaucrats...”

The only thing between Rick, Morty, and the angry Yaburik guards searching for them (and processor chips Rick had stolen) was a _locked door_. And sure, Morty knew -- was intimately familiar with the fact -- that Rick could and would just murder anyone that found them, but that didn’t mean an accident couldn’t happen. And, frankly, the idea of Rick reaching out and murdering people while pinning Morty to a shelving unit was doing _nothing_ to suppress or distract him from the adrenaline boner Morty was sporting. 

_Shit._ “Can you just hurry, Rick? Please?” Morty whispered, curling his fingers in and digging his nails into his own palms in a struggle to keep anything but a normal fear of death from his voice. 

And he must have failed. That must have been his mistake. Or maybe Rick had been planning to find a moment for this conversation since they landed on the planet. Either way, Morty could feel Rick’s attention shift. Before that moment, the titanic amount of Rick’s laser focus had been on the portal gun, with a sliver devoted to other stimuli. Now, there were two shards of Rick’s attention split between the door and the portal gun, and the lion’s share of it was a physical weight on Morty even with his eyes locked on Rick’s Adam's apple just over the faintly wrinkled collar of his faded blue shirt, his chin tucked and head angled too low to catch his gaze. 

“Why are you so fucking jumpy?” Rick asked bluntly, low but not low enough for Morty’s comfort. “You’ve been weird for a while.Why don’t you just confess what you broke and let me know what I have to fix?”

Morty swallowed, the weight of Rick’s attention almost a physical sensation. “I don’t -- what are you talking about, Rick? You’re crazy.”

“Ob -- ugh -- obviously, Morty. Real nut case, news at 6. But also, you know, the smartest person in the universe, so.”

The tiny bit of hope that he’d be able to sidestep this conversation was guttering. “Is this -- you really want to talk about this _now_?”

“Yeah, I think I do, Morty. You’ve been squirrelly lately, a smug little shit sometimes and guilty other times. What’s the secret? Got a new girlfriend you’re keeping secret at college? Boyfriend? Both?f”

Morty pressed his head back into the shelf behind him, eyes slamming shut. The steps from the guards were coming closer, not helping his racing heart at all. “What? No! I don’t --when would I have time to sneak around? With two people?!”

“Good point.” Rick shifted his weight, the thigh between Morty’s leg rubbing even as he tried to widen his stance. “Banging a professor?”

“No!”

“Fucking an Amfiddian? That one we met a few weeks ago was kinda into you…”

“Oh my god! Still no, Rick,” Morty hissed, lifting and dropping his head back into the shelf in frustration. With Rick and himself, and his stupid body that didn’t get the message that now was absolutely the worst time to be aroused. 

“Hm.”

The footsteps moved closer, drawing Morty’s attention toward the door. “Rick!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rick muttered. “I’m still working on getting us out of here. I can do that and pry your little secret out of you. Some of us are capable of multitasking, _Morty._ Anyway, we both know how this is going to end, so why not just get it over with.”

“You’re such a dick,” Morty breathed, glaring up at Rick, angry with him and angry with his own stupid dick that somehow just kept getting harder. It was the adrenaline and the scent, it had to be. If only Rick had tossed back enough booze to vomit earlier! The smell of bile usually curbed even Morty’s libido.

“If you aren’t fucking around, is this about your new fetish for daddy porn?” Rick asked, eyes narrowing down at Morty. Morty’s mouth hung open, the reply totally stolen as his thoughts turned briefly into static. His cheeks felt volcanic. “Seriously? So what if you want some old fuck to slap your ass and fuck your throat?”

“Oh...god…” Morty whispered, nails cutting into his palms as Rick’s damp, whiskey soaked whisper went straight to his half chub with a surge of blood that plumped it up with dizzying speed. He was hard enough that his fly was pressing into his cock in a confusing sort of pressure that was painful, but somehow faintly satisfying. “Can you just shut up?”

Rick huffed. “Not when you’re being even dumber than usual. It’s a little cliche, but why the fuck would I care if you get off on the idea of being used by _daddy_ until you’re so loose you can’t keep the cum from dripping out, you fucking idiot?”

 _Fuck._ Morty gasped, eyes slamming shut as his hips jerked forward without any rational thought or ability to stop. The added pressure of Rick’s thigh was blinding for a moment, too good, riding the edge of pain with Morty’s jeans still pressing into his erection before the overwhelming panic froze him. 

“Geez, Morty,” Rick whispered, sounding half amused and a little embarrassed himself. “Sorry, I uh...didn’t mean to get you worked up…?” 

Morty winced. There were footsteps closing in on the closet from the hall they’d come down and Morty was literally about to blow a load in his pants riding Rick’s thigh. _What a way to die._

Of course, everything worked out. The guard checking their closet unlocked the door with little expectation of finding them, so she (he? zey?) were unprepared to take a shot and could only witness Rick, Morty, their contraband, and a shelf of cleaning supplies falling through a green portal in the floor in stunned silence.

“You’re a terrible person!” Morty dodged the falling shelf and used the running head start to get the fuck out of the garage before Rick could say anything in response. "Let’s never talk about this again!"


	3. Programmed For Tolerance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morty groaned, wrapping his arms around his middle since it was what he wanted to do and he was clearly failing to do anything to hide his erection. God only knew how red his cheeks were -- they felt like they were on fire. The only reason he was capable of speaking at all was his long history with moving past public humiliation. “Look, yeah, I, I get it that I’m a walking cliche here, OK? I’m sorry. Can we just. Can we skip the part of this conversation where you stroke your own ego and get to the part where we pretend this never happened?”
> 
> “Something else you, uh, you want to stroke for me, Morty?” Rick asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Morty should have remembered that Rick never did something for nothing, even when the “something” in question was honoring his grandson’s request not to bring up the boner he’d gotten while they were about to die pressed against each other in a literal closet. 

“Hey, so...I know you said you didn’t want to talk about this, but I feel like maybe we should. I...guess I was a little harsh...”

“Oh, please no,” Morty whispered, freezing at his desk after automatically hitting the key combo to collapse all of his programs even though he’d been trying to distract himself with work for his World Literature course. “No, I don’t need to talk about anything! Totally fine!”

Rick walked into the room and closed the door behind him. It was probably for the best: it was late enough that the rest of the house was sleeping and Morty’s 9am statistics course would be a bitch. He’d tried laying down earlier to sleep away the embarrassing situation, but he’d lain awake with an equal amount of low grade humiliation and arousal burning in his gut while his mind spun thoughts around too fast to allow for sleep, so he’d finally thrown his blankets off and turned his lamp on to try working on something productive. It hadn’t really worked, and here was Rick in one of those moods, or just drunk enough, to try being supportive, wanting to talk about Morty’s...what, issues with his fetish for dirty talk? 

_How is this my life?_

“Look, Morty, I’m not getting where this shame is coming from, to be honest,” Rick said, settling on the edge of Morty’s bed and propping his elbows on his knees. “You know there isn’t any -- there’s nothing you could possibly think about doing I haven’t already done with a _Flemgoor_ in the back of a police car.”

 _How? Who did I piss off?_ Morty closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. “Rick…”

“Yeah, look, let’s be honest: your naughty daddy kink isn’t even surprising.” Rick laughed, dragging Morty’s attention toward him with the force of his attention. 

“Not -- wait, why would you say that?” Morty asked faintly, feeling an absurd bubble of laughter fizzing in his chest as he peered through his fingers. 

“Yeah, of course it isn’t, Morty!” Rick said, leaning forward with an almost soft expression. “With -- well, I don’t like to bring it up, but with _Jerry as your dad,_ it makes sense you’d want to find a, an alpha type to take care of you now and then. There’s nothing wrong with, you know, wanting someone strong and more experienced to hold you down for a good dicking. ”

“Oh, god,” Morty whispered in horrified awe at Rick’s audacity and his own simultaneously amazing and horrific luck. Now he’d always know what Rick sounded like saying _hold you down for a good dicking_.

“Look,” Rick coughed and dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m just saying that it makes sense and you shouldn’t hurt yourself because you want to be someone’s bitch.” 

“Rick, no...” Morty moaned, dragging his hand through his hair.

“OK, OK, sorry, sheesh. Their...naughty boy, or whatever.”

 _NaUgHtY bOy._ Morty’s dick was thickening with every word in direct relation to his horror. Morty couldn’t imagine what his face must look like after the sustained onslaught his libido had been under all day, and he was only in his boxers. There really was almost no way that the timing could be more horrific. “ _Fuck my entire life_.”

“Oh?” Rick quirked a brow, eyes narrowing faintly as he smirked faintly. “Heh, you gotta work on that hair trigger, Morty...You gotta work on that for daddy.”

The mockery and tone was familiar enough that habit sparked an instinctive response. “Oh, f-fuck you, Rick. I do not have a hair trigger!” 

Of course, Morty’s instincts had frequently fucked him over and this wasn’t one of the times where he got lucky. 

Rick snorted. “I mean, evidence from today suggests you do, buddy. It’s either that or you’re even kinkier than I thought.”

Morty felt the blood drain from his face as he realized his instinctive snap had sidestepped a perfectly reasonable, if slightly embarrassing explanation for all of this. “Uh. Oh. You uh, yeah, I just. Guess you’re right.”

Rick’s eyes narrowed faintly. “Morty, are you lying to me right now? Trying to hide...what, that you’re seriously attracted to two dimensional squid people, or that being about to die really gets you off?”

“Ah.” Morty’s throat closed up. “Yes?”

“God, how are we related? You’re such a terrible liar,” Rick muttered. “So, none of those. Then the common thread is…” His eyes widened.

Morty shook his head silently, feeling the clamp of a hypothetical bear trap closing in, and glared down at the erection that _still hadn’t died_. 

“Oh, my god,” Rick said, a weird smile curling his lips. 

_This is all your fault,_ Morty thought angrily at his dick. “Shut up? Please. Please shut up?”

“Morty,” Rick half laughed, holding a hand out. “I gotta ask. Is it me? Are you...is this a _me_ thing?”

“I hate everything,” Morty groaned, dropping his head into his hands. 

“Holy fuuuuuuck,” Rick whispered, staring at him with a sort of baffled, sadistic awe. “Talk about bad fucking ideas, Morty, this is...wow. Might even top some of my own bad ideas, I have to say.” 

“Fuck you.” Morty dug his knuckles into his eyes and then leaned back in his chair, dropping his hands into his lap and hopefully obfuscating his obviously hard dick. 

Rick straightened and very obviously looked down before his eyes, pale blue and cybernetic gray, refocused on Morty’s face deliberately. “Ooh, poor choice of words there, huh?”

Morty rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks. 

“Look, despite the part where I’m your mother’s father, I can’t really fault your taste. They say the brain is the most erotic organ (for humans anyway, not like...Nifpariks, their dicks are fucking massive) and I _am_ the smartest man in the universe.”

“OK. OK, yes, for...whatever reason, I might have some totally inexplicable a...attract -- maybe I’ve been thinking about you inappropriately.” Morty swallowed. “I’m -- I’m pretty sure _any_ attraction to you is some level of inappropriate no matter -- no matter who it is, so. Yeah, it’s weird, but I’m owning it. I wasn’t going to... _do_ anything about it, since, you know, I didn’t want to weird you out or -- or whatever.” 

Rick shifted to pull his flask out of his pocket and took a long pull. “No, seriously, all jokes aside. Incest is a little fucked up. I’m impressed, I have to be honest...and my eyes are up here, kiddo.”

Morty reluctantly raised his eyes from Rick’s throat back to his face and licked his lips. “Yeah, I get that, Rick...uh. You aren’t mad, right?”

_Is this too much? Will you disappear again?_

Rick’s smirk softened faintly and he met Morty’s eyes directly, without the shade of mockery for just a moment. The sort of expression Morty saw rarely, and one he didn’t think anyone else saw ever. 

_Rick and Morty forever. For a hundred years._

But Rick, of course, was still Rick so once he observed Morty’s dread lifting slightly, he immediately returned to tugging on the new toy he’d discovered. “Is that what you want, Morty? Want grandpa to be mad, to punish you?”

“Rick,” Morty hissed, shifting and trying not to think about it. The thing was, he had thought about it in the year since he’d realized how fucked up he’d become. Rick was really fucking strong and he could -- _no._ God, fuck this whole cliched, shitty mess. 

“Yeah, looks like you like that idea, Morty,” Rick said, and jerked his chin down toward Morty’s dick. “You sure about that hair trigger? Not making things too hard for you, am I?”

Morty groaned, wrapping his arms around his middle since it was what he wanted to do and he was clearly failing to do anything to hide his erection. God only knew how red his cheeks were -- they felt like they were on fire. The only reason he was capable of speaking at all was his long history with moving past public humiliation. “Look, yeah, I, I get it that I’m a walking cliche here, OK? I’m sorry. Can we just. Can we skip the part of this conversation where you stroke your own ego and get to the part where we pretend this never happened?”

“Something else you, uh, you want to stroke for me, Morty?” Rick asked, waggling his eyebrows. 

Morty snorted, rolling his own eyes and pointedly kept his gaze focused up. He couldn’t really do anything about his burning cheeks.

Rick was quiet for a moment, long enough to draw Morty’s attention back to him. He was spinning his flask between his fingers, staring down at it thoughtfully. “Huh. OK, I’ll be honest, not something I’d thought about _too much,_ but...I could be into it.”

 _What_? _What's **too much**_? Morty’s mouth dropped open but he could speak for a moment, temporarily lost for words until his brain rebooted. “You could be...are you being serious? This isn’t a weird way to fuck with me, right? I’m already, you know, _pretty aware_ that this is weird. No need to open my eyes, there.”

“Eh,” Rick shrugged, tapping his flask against his thigh and then planting his elbows on his knees again. “Not like I can get you pregnant. But even then, this is the sort of thing I can see getting real fucking sloppy, so I need to know up front: what are you actually after? You want a one time taste or what?”

“Rick!” Morty swallowed the lump in his throat. “Come on, you can’t mean it. You might not give a shit about the whole incest thing, OK, not a surprise to me. If I could move past it after we _soul fucked_ , with my _planetary mindset_ , god knows you could.”

Rick snorted. “I mean. Yeah, it’s still fucked up, but we all know I’ve done worse and it’s not like you’re a fourteen year old virgin getting the bad touch from grandpa.”

Morty scowled. “Don’t be gross. I just. Look, I know I’m not...that I don’t really measure up to your usual. Uh, _conquests_.” 

“You had to expect the jokes, Mort,” Rick shrugged, taking a swig. “But yeah, fair enough -- pretty low hanging fruit, I g--EUGHss you’re right. Ugh. For your shit self esteem, I probably only have my -- myself to blame there, huh? I knew ignoring it would bite me in the ass someday, but _damn_. Look, we...we already spend more time together than I have with anyone I’ve actually dated. You know I couldn’t give two fucks about ninety-nine percent of the entire galaxy, so you’re, you know. On the right side of the numbers.”

Morty swallowed. “ _Rick_...” 

Rick rolled his eyes faintly, eyes shifting in habitual discomfort with emotional honesty, fingers tapping at his flask. “Whatever. Look. I just need to know if this is something you _actually_ want to try for real, or if it’s just like...a filthy fantasy that gets you pounding hard when you jerk off in that shitty twin bed at c- EUGH -llege?”

Morty took a breath and tried to ease himself through the absurdity that was the entire conversation,then he opened his eyes and found Rick smirking knowingly. “ _Rick._ ”

“Sorry...” Rick snickered.

It was a little unfortunate but Morty found that even though he was the butt of the joke, Rick’s honest laughter was still...nice. 

Rick didn’t seem to notice the shift in Morty’s mood. “That was a real question, though. Are you like...is this just a kink you like to think about when you jerk it? That wouldn’t be as weird as you might think, to be honest.”

Morty swallowed, looking down and clasping his hands together over his knees. Thankfully the irritation and emotion was doing what determination hadn’t, and he was back down to a persistent, but ignorable half chub. “Are you asking if I want to...go steady? I _know you_. You hate the _idea_ of monogamy. The closest you ever got to love or whatever was Unity, and they were a hivemind.”

Rick tipped his flask up and apparently finished off the contents judging from his faint frown as he swallowed. “Eh. This isn’t about me, it’s about you. What you want, what you’re asking for.”

“Rick…” Morty frowned. “I’m not...I don’t need anything.” 

Morty shifted. Paused. Then swallowed and continued: he got up and made his way to the bed, minding Rick’s faintly wary look but still folding one of his legs up on the bed and leaning in to sit near him. “Yeah, I’m...attracted to you and it’s unfortunate. Not because you’re my grandfather, but because you can be such an arrogant jackass. Well, and also because you’re my grandfather. But like you said, that isn’t even the most fucked up thing that’s ever happened to us, and...I do. Love you, I mean. I’ve felt like this for a while, and just...it took some time to figure it out. I love you and it was fine, you know, not being a thing. I don’t _need_ more from you to be happy with how much of you I have in my life. I’m still happy being _Rick and Morty_ if you are.”

Rick’s face had gone unreadable halfway through Morty’s little speech and when he stopped speaking, they were both quiet for a minute holding each other’s eyes before Rick licked his lips and forced a faint smirk. “Damn, bitch. That was...that was pretty gay.”

Morty rolled his eyes and dropped back to lay flat on his bed, draping an arm over his eyes. “Whatever, Rick. Yeah, I love you. No, I don’t think you did anything to me, like this isn’t your fault or whatever. Yes, I definitely still think you’re an asshole. No you don’t have to like...pimp yourself out to me to make me feel better about this. It’s fucked up, but I’ve been doing OK. Had a few relationships that started and ended without you b-butting in at all.”

“Yeah, you...you’re all grown up, huh,” Rick said quietly. Morty uncovered his eyes to look. The lamp cast deep shadows over Rick’s face. It was pale and his wrinkles were cutting even deeper lines than normal from the angle. The bags under his eyes from little sleep were obvious. His cheekbones were so sharp that they made the skin covering them seem even thinner. His mouth was damp with alcohol and spit but no obvious signs of vomit, though that didn’t mean it wasn’t coming. 

It was Rick. Stupid, brilliant, insane, engaging Rick. The guy who mocked him and pulled him close, who showed him things nobody else could ever hope to see, who trusted him and wanted him around even though Morty wasn’t ever going to be able to keep up with him and his intelligence. He was just...Rick. Morty’s friend, his family. His partner.

“I’d irritate the fuck out of you,” Morty offered, because he had thought about it. “I’d want to hold hands on adventures sometimes, and I’d want...you know, I’d want you to be nice to me sometimes not for something I did right, but just because. And I know you can get it up way more than a normal 75 year old, but I’m horny. Like. All the time. Yeah, I’d want to...you know, at least know when you’d want to screw around, but honestly...I’d want to fuck way more than you would, probably. Not even sure you’d be able to get it up to fuck me as often as I’d want it, let alone anyone else.”

Rick snorted. “Wouldn’t be so sure about that, you smug little shit.”

Morty propped himself up on one elbow. “Oh yeah?”

Rick tossed the flask he’d been fiddling with to the side without looking and it slid right off the bed to the floor. “Yeah, _Morty._ ” He glared at Morty, brow furrowing faintly with insult. “I could go toe for -- _mano a mano_ with you any day of the week and come out on top. You ever tried viroxian stimulants? No side effects on their own and you can fuck for _days._ ”

Morty swallowed at the way Rick was leaning in, his voice gone gruff and smooth. Familiar, even if Morty had only rarely seen it up close. Seduction by intimidation. “ _Rick_.”

He’d been trying to give Rick an easy out from the topic. This was almost sounding like Rick...didn’t want one. It was going to his head, and the atmosphere was going to his dick.

Rick’s mouth quirked up and his eyes narrowed with a focus that left Morty feeling a little vulnerable in a way that got his heart pumping. “Just letting you know, Morty, not trying to get your motor going, sweetheart.”

 _SwEeThEaRt._ The heat that had faded to a low grade burn surged back over Morty’s throat and cheeks and he let out a small sound, eyes widening.

Rick sat up and leaned further in, taking in the response and licking his lips. “Heh...so when you said you wanted me to be _nice to you_ , what exactly were you thinking?”

 _God damn it._ Morty swallowed, squirming faintly. “Fuck off, Rick,” he said, voice shaking. Damn it. His last two relationships had each lasted longer than they should have because of Morty’s weakness to words, sweet and filthy alike. 

Rick stretched out along the bed, parallel to Morty’s torso, propped up on his elbow. “But if I leave, I couldn’t tell you how good you look, b -- baby. Red all the way up your throat: not everyone flushes pretty like you.”

Morty sat up, staring at Rick with his thoughts whirling. He was mocking Morty, sure, but Morty was familiar enough with Rick’s bullshit to recognize the kernel of truth lending his voice a rough edge as he tried to hide it. _Fucking sloppy_ , Rick had said. God knew that was the truth. It didn’t matter, though, Morty realized. Not when he wanted and knew Rick actually might as well. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered, surging over to Rick and tangling his fingers in his familiar faded blue shirt. 

Rick, with his custom cybernetic enhancements and his bioenhanced musculature could have stopped him. He had to see it coming with his cybernetic eye (and his, you know, regular one), and his IQ that outclassed the next 20 smartest people in the universe _combined._ This was the man who’d collapsed a galactic empire on a whim, and he just watched Morty approach, blue-gray eyes fixed in fascination as Morty wriggled closer.

“I hope you’re happy, asshole,” he muttered, and pulled him down until he could reach his mouth and kissed him. His partner in crime. His friend. His grandfather. _His Rick._

_Fuck._

Rick’s lips were chapped, but soft under Morty’s, and the smoky taste of his whiskey seeped into Morty’s mouth. His stubble was a little rough against Morty’s cheeks and chin, but softer than his last boyfriend’s had been. Steve had been Italian on his mother’s side and he’d always ended up with a fierce 5 o’clock shadow no matter how closely he shaved in the morning. In comparison, Rick’s was a light, pleasant friction, and his mouth was soft under Morty’s, momentarily banishing the ability to think.

Morty tilted his head slightly, adjusting so he could suck gently on Rick’s lower lip through the loose seal of his own, not quite daring to press forward with his tongue but tasting the overwhelming whiskey flavored humid press of their mouths and feeling it shiver through his body. He pulled back after a moment, breathing a little more heavily than the kiss accounted for. His eyes opened and locked onto Rick’s mouth immediately, and a new flush of heat went through him at the new color he’d pressed into them. Redder and wetter than they’d been. Softer looking, maybe. He darted a look up at Rick who was observing him with that same lazy half lidded stare from earlier, and licked his lips automatically, chasing the taste of Rick’s mouth.

Then, finally: _I kissed Rick._ Morty’s eyes jumped up to meet Rick’s, trying to get a read on him. Rick was staring straight back at him, gray-blue iris starting to disappear into the pupil, the intensity of the look giving him an element of a predator he didn’t really need. The thought of Rick evaluating his prowess -- being able to evaluate his prowess first hand, even -- sent a weird squirming mix of excitement and shame through his gut. 

Rick’s mouth quirked, the crow’s feet around his eyes and the lines around his mouth deepening. “You kiss your grandfather with that mouth?”

“Fucking --” _seriously?_ Morty swallowed his own complaint, the fear fading as he leaned forward again and dragged his lips over the corner of Rick’s mouth. “God, you -- _why_ do I have such shitty taste...”

Rick snorted, turning his head so their mouths slid together again. “Sounds -- sounds like a _you_ problem, baby.”

Morty wanted to reply but Rick was done being nice apparently: he leaned in, and Morty felt the burn of anticipation roil in his gut as he let himself fall back into the bed with the weight of Rick’s hand as Rick pressed in assertively, hand settling on Morty’s ribs. 

Morty’s thoughts were going hazy as he focused on the sensation of Rick’s teeth gently biting his lower lip, then the renewed pressure as Rick moved in and brushed his tongue over Morty’s lips and then into his mouth when Morty’s jaw went soft and open for him. Morty found he was just taking in the sensations now. The faint rub of stubble, the slick soft press of Rick’s lips, the lush rub of Rick’s tongue pressing to his own. Rick’s palm on the bare skin of his stomach, dry skin and a little rough where his shirt had rucked up. He wanted -- he wanted _more_ , and pulled Rick in to take it, wrapping his arms around his back and tugging him forward, folding his legs up to cradle him.

He could feel Rick smirk against his mouth, but it was just another sensation as Rick settled over him, slotting between his thighs and leaning in, his pelvis a pleasant rough textured weight against Morty’s dick through his boxers. The sensation of his hand sliding under Morty’s shirt and around his back, between Morty and the bed, almost like a hug, was warm and dry and _so good_. The calluses Morty had tried not to imagine felt even better than he’d thought they would and the blunt nails scratching gently as Rick kneaded his lower back were a pleasant surprise Morty hadn’t predicted. 

Rick pulled away, breaking from Morty’s mouth with his lips curling into a familiar fond smirk. “Yeah, you -- you’ve definitely got the engine of a twenty year old.”

Morty licked his lips, chasing the flavor of whiskey instinctively, pressing his heels into the bed and grinding, his breath coming fast as his heart tried to beat out of his chest. “So -- so _turn the key_ , you old son of a--”

Rick snickered, his fingers flexing, scratching gently as he slid his over hand into Morty’s hair and pulled, smirking down at Morty with equal condescension and fondness. “Uhp, uhp -- you want me to be nice to you, you better be good.”

 _Oh shit._ Morty took a sharp breath through his nose, mouth hanging open as his heart hammered. His thoughts were clattering, recalling every klaxon he’d heard in his life as a dimension hopping sidekick.

“That’s right,” Rick crowed, leaning closer. “I’m only nice to good boys, Morty.”

Morty felt like his brain was caught in a vice, unable to fully process anything beyond the sound his blood was making as it rushed through his ears and the burn of arousal that hitched a little as his thighs clamped more tightly around Rick’s pelvis. “ _You’re never nice_.”

“I could be nice to you if you wanted,” Rick murmured. “Couldn’t I, baby? For a certain definition of -- of _nice._ ”

Morty licked his lips and leaned up, aimed for a kiss and pressed his mouth to Rick’s throat when he pulled back. “You’re. God, you’re awful. Fucking _kiss me_ , damn it. _Please._ ”

“It’s a good thing I like desperate sluts,” Rick muttered, rolling his hips into Morty’s. “You’re just my type, huh?”

The pressure felt so good Morty’s head snapped back into the bed, into Rick’s hand -- pulling his own hair with the move and not caring as he squirmed, heels pressing into the back of Rick’s thighs. “Fuck -- fuck you!”

“Yeah,” Rick muttered, pulling back to watch Morty’s face as he rocked into him. “Show me -- show me what you look like. I’m right here, Mort -- you can. I want to see.”

 _I want to see._ The words cut through Morty with lethal efficiency, somehow wrapping around his heart and fueling the urgency pumping his hips as well and he sobbed through his next few breaths, digging his heels in so hard Rick would probably have bruises. 

“Look at you,” Rick muttered, locking his hips in place and not doing anything but let Morty grind up. “Fucking vice around me, shit. Been hitting the gym at school? Those _thighs_ , baby…”

Morty could masturbate almost totally silently, but sex was usually loud and messy and fun. He had the feeling sex with Rick (holy _fuck_ ) was going to be at least two of those, but being loud should be out of the question while fucking in his childhood room (and that shouldn’t be hot but it was, _it was_ ) and Morty found the last thread of his sanity was twisted around that one command: _don’t wake up mom and dad._

It was sick and hot and absolutely ridiculous, and it had a _straight line to his goddamned dick._

“Rick,” he sobbed into his grandfather’s arm, not close enough to cum but close enough that the finish line was in sight and with the desperation to chase it and get his mouth on any part of Rick that he could, needing the taste of skin to ground him in the overwhelming wash of sensation and help him keep his mouth shut. 

Rick tasted like skin, the initial burst a flash of salt from the sweat he’d worked up on their adventure before that faded away to the texture of skin and the only flavor Morty could chase was _mint baja blast_ from his own toothpaste.

“That’s it, ba -- baby,” Rick muttered over him. “Just, just go ahead and get there. I want to see it, Morty. Show me -- show me what it looks like when you use me to get off.”

 _Oh fuck._ The idea of using Rick -- that _anyone_ could, but least of all _Morty_ of all people -- was enough to short circuit whatever was left in his head like a bolt of lightning that ran from the top of Morty’s head to his toes and shot out of his dick to erupt in an embarrassing mess in his boxers. 

“Fuck, you’re wet,” Rick mumbled, pressing his face into Morty’s throat and dragging his mouth over his pulse. “That’s so -- god, I’m gonna dick you down in every inch of this shitty suburban nightmare, Morty. _Every inch._ You won’t be able to _shit_ without remembering how you begged for -- begged me to _fuck_ you in Jerry’s fucking _half bath._ ”

Morty’s dick was starting to soften in the cum slick mess he’d made of his boxers, but Rick was rolling his hips into his hip anyway and Morty found his fingers clawing into his back with the sensation. God, the feeling was riding the edge of too much, but the idea of Rick being so into it that he wasn’t even going to unbutton his fly was so hot that Morty felt the aftershocks jolt back to full strength. “Fucking -- fucking _do it_ , Rick, you feel so good, _I love you so much_ \--”

“ _Fuck_ \--” Rick jerked against him, disrupting his own choppy rhythm before he went still, and his mouth went slack against Morty’s neck. “You -- you little shit,” he whispered into Morty’s neck an eternity later. “You’re the best thing in my goddamn life. Don’t -- you can’t -- ”

“I’m not,” Morty whispered, pulling Rick in tight again where his hold had gone loose after he'd cum. “I won’t. You -- you don’t gotta worry about me, Rick. I’m. I’m for you. I’m a sure thing, OK? _I'm for you._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone interested: I actually kind of like where this one is right now, but I still have some more kinks on my list so I've marked this one as finished and created a series for subscription purposes in case anyone wants to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, I haven't left the house in over a week and decided to write 25 of my favorite kinks in a fandom I barely looked at before, for a pairing I briefly nodded at when it was popular in The Old Days of Yore. There is at least one more part, and it may keep expanding depending on my own inspiration and hutzpah, but I will try not to leave things on a cliff hanger.


End file.
